


The Memory of a Man

by Sophie3



Category: Looper (2012)
Genre: Destiny, Domestic, Drabble, Gen, Memories, Timey-Wimey
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-25
Updated: 2012-10-25
Packaged: 2017-11-17 00:05:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,247
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/545304
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sophie3/pseuds/Sophie3
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Some memories have to be held on to, even if they can't be saved.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Memory of a Man

Three hours on the road and one thick layer of dust later, Cid stepped into his childhood home. The screen door clattered behind him, still a little loose on its hinges, and the smell of old wood and lemon cleaner wrapped around him.  

"Mother, I'm home," he called out easily. He dropped his bag at the steps and felt his face relax into a smile even before she came into view.

She was nearly sixty now, though work on the farm had kept her in much better shape than many women her age. When Cid had finally caved and left the farm to take up an apprentice position with a engineer in the city, he had tried to talk her into taking on help, at least part time. There had been absolutely no talk of leaving the farm.

"There you are," she said brightly, even though he was always on time. "How's the shop? Come on into the kitchen, I have to take the meatloaf out."

Cid had privately bet that the odds of her making meatloaf were about 75%. It was the one recipe she refused to admit defeat on, and the one he had been subjected to the most throughout his whole life time. He'd apparently said something terribly rude a child about Sara not making it as good as her sister, and that was all it took to become a life goal for Sara.

Cid told her stories about his customers while she set the table for dinner. It was easy to fall back into a rhythm even if he only spent a third of his time back home any more.

"I think this is your best one yet," he told her, once they were both well fed. She hummed in agreement, but he could see the way she eyed the sauce on top as if it was hiding something from her.

He waited till after desert, as the two of them sat out on the front porch, to bring up the conversation he had been dreading for some time now.

"I have a week off of work," he told her, starting with the good news. "But I've been offered some consulting work. In another city. They've been working on a tracking system, for the purpose of personal accountability. A provision in the legal frame work has already been put into place, but they need help designing a chip sophisticated and secure enough to handle the task. I know I can do it." That was the easy part. He took a deep breath. "I won't be able to come home the way I have been," he finally told her, staring out at the crops ahead of him so he wouldn't have to see her face. "It might be months in between visits. Possibly even longer. I may be traveling a lot, so communication's going to be patchy too." He stopped there before he started to truly ramble. He didn't like leaving her, not for that long. But this farm - it was now one of the safe places around. Sara had seen to that before, and Cid had done his best to add to it. And he'd always know that he couldn't stay here forever.

His mother let the silence hang there between them, watching the fireflies drift lazily through air, blinking in the dark. "This work," she finally said. "It's important?"

Cid's reply was fervent. "Yes. Yes, it's- It's going to change how people live their lives, how they have to live their lives. They shouldn't have to fear any man with a guy. It's just a tiny little step, but there's no control over anything right now, no organization. If we can give even just a little of that back to the people, it'll make it possible for real change to happen."

Sara stared at him, studying his face in the sharp bifurcation of the porch light. She said only one word. "Okay."

Later that night, after she'd gone to bed, and after he'd waited long enough to be sure she'd stay there, Cid got up. He left his old room, avoided each squeaky floorboard, till he was standing in the living room, staring at the old glass and wood secretariat that had been a part of this house long before even Sara was born. It was filled as it always had been, with papers in its draws, old, faded books lined up on its glass shelves and little nick-nacks and pieces of life set carefully on display in the front. As a child, the secretariat had bee one of the things he was not to touch. It was a place for storing old things, things that couldn't be replaced, things that shouldn't be forgotten. Cid rarely had reason to go near it, much less open the stiff carved wood door with its rattling glass panes. It was really more Sara's domain, a place for her to store her memories.

Except he needed one of those now. Tucked carefully into the pages of an old book, high up on the top shelf, were two tiny pictures. He pulled both of them out, staring down at them. His memory was excellent. Near perfect, really. He hadn't forgotten a single hair or frown line. But it was one thing to remember the way a man looked and another to see what was probably the only piece of evidence left that he had ever existed.

Cid's memory was clear, but he still needed this. Needed to have this picture close to his at all times. He didn't question his memory - but he needed to make sure he never forgot.

The book went back on its self, the cabinet was closed, and Cid moved carefully into the kitchen and started to make tea. He had one more week left. One more week to spend in the warmth and safety of his home, one week left to enjoy the kindness and support of his mother. Then he would pack his bag, leave for a city he had never been to before, and start a process that must end in success.

He had everything he could ever want in this house, but Cid also knew, like a vision, a memory, a shade of possibility that would never leave him that it wasn't enough. It wasn't enough that he have this house, this mother, this chance at happiness. Not while children were gun down in the street, not while women wasted away, not while men lashed out in blind fear and greed.

Not while he could fix it. Not while he knew, in a way, he already had.

After making tea, and while the burner was still on, Cid burned the second photo. It didn't matter now. The other he tucked into a pocket close to his heart and held onto the memory of a man.

In a week he would leave home, maybe for good, and he would unleash a power of the likes no one had seen before. Men would fear his name, would scramble for cover, would loose everything. And he would hunt each one of the down - every killer, every man with a gun that thought that made him god, every drug dealer and child snatcher - and he would make it rain their blood onto the earth so that something new and innocent might have a chance to grow.

Cid would change the world.

And it would start and end with the loopers. With one looper.


End file.
